


2020 Vision

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Feelings, Karaoke, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21930829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: Just Barson having feelings, y'know...
Relationships: Rafael Barba & Olivia Benson, Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 107





	2020 Vision

They were sitting close together, so close that their arms brushed each time they moved. Their legs were almost touching beneath the table. He’d moved his foot against hers a few times, subtly, just for the contact, but he was barely aware of doing so. He wasn’t even sure how their chairs had become so close to each other. He’d shifted a bit when Rollins spilled a drink on the table; Benson had moved an inch or so to give Fin space when he’d gotten up to leave. But otherwise?

“Come on!” Rollins called beside him, clapping. She put her fingers in her mouth and whistled, and Barba winced. Benson shifted against his arm and he glanced toward her. He knew he wasn’t exactly the life of the party, and he felt a rush of guilt. He wondered if he should just leave so they could have fun without the risk of his mood infecting the evening.

Carisi was up at the microphone, and Rollins was still cheering him on. As soon as the song—“Wild Thing”—started, Barba suppressed a groan. He heard Benson make a sound, a little huff of amusement, and he did his best to wipe the annoyance from his face. If seeing Carisi stomp around on stage while murdering The Troggs was her idea of fun, then Barba had no desire to spoil it for her.

Barba sipped at his beer. He despised beer, but Rollins and Carisi had been taking turns buying rounds for the table. Everyone else was drinking it, and he didn’t need to give them any more ammunition to use against him. Carisi and Rollins had been ragging him about his sweater— _the magenta really complements the bloodshot eyes!_ —and his hair— _I’ve never seen it move before!_ —and everything else since his arrival. Even Fin had thrown a few jabs before leaving.

Benson turned away from Barba and pushed to her feet and he felt a stab of disappointment. When she returned from the bathroom, or wherever she was going, she probably wouldn’t sit so close to him. He turned his head as she walked away, watching for a few moments as he rubbed the back of his neck. He hoped she wasn’t just taking a break from his grumpiness, but he wouldn’t blame her if she was.

It had been such a long time since he’d been invited out with this squad that was no longer _his_ , and he’d jumped at the chance to join them, to rub shoulders with Benson and remember how easy it used to be. He missed all of them—his squad—but Benson’s absence from his daily life was like a toothache, a constant dull pain that he couldn’t escape. 

“Come on, Counsellor, smile,” Rollins said, elbowing him. Barba shot her a dirty look, but she just rolled her eyes and whistled again as Carisi continued to make a fool of himself.

Barba drank his beer. It was warm because he’d been nursing it for so long. The tepidness didn’t add any value, but the truth was he was beyond caring. He wasn’t drunk, not really, but he was close. Close enough for the lights to feel a little too bright and the music a little too loud, but he wasn’t drunk enough to improve his mood.

In less than an hour, it would be a new year. It was a time for celebrating the year that had passed and looking forward to new opportunities in the year to come, but Barba only wanted one thing in 2020. And he had no right to ask for it, or to even hope for it.

Carisi and Benson got back to the table at the same time, and Barba glanced at Benson when she returned to her seat beside him. She offered a smile and nudged him playfully with her arm and he opened his mouth to ask her if they could speak somewhere in private.

Luckily Carisi, dropping into the chair beside Rollins, spoke up before Barba could say something stupid. “Alright, who’s next?” he called. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright, his voice loud—he was drunker than Barba, but Carisi was a happy drunk.

“I’m trying to get Barba up there,” Rollins said, and she and her former partner leaned close together to regard their former ADA with exaggerated speculation.

“He can’t sing,” Carisi told her, pointing a finger at Barba.

“I’ve never even heard him humming,” Rollins agreed.

Carisi squinted one eye at Barba. “I bet you don’t even sing in the shower.”

“Did you sing nursery rhymes as a kid?” Rollins asked.

“Or go right to reciting Shakespeare—”

“I was Caractacus Potts in high school,” Barba said.

“The fuck is that?” Carisi asked, and Rollins snorted laughter.

Barba glared at both of them. “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang,” he said. “I’ve had yogurt with more culture than you two.”

“The flying car?” Carisi asked with his brow wrinkled in confusion. “And the…song about tooting candy?” Rollins looked at him and threw her head back, laughing.

“Ian Fleming!” Barba exclaimed, and he knew his cheeks were flushed. He hadn’t meant to take Carisi’s bait; perhaps he was more intoxicated than he’d thought.

“Who?” Carisi asked.

“I assume you’ve heard of James Bond?”

“James Bond didn’t sing,” Carisi said.

Barba opened his mouth, but Benson said, her voice mild, “Alright, kids, let’s take a breath.” He snapped his mouth shut and closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath through his nose. He turned away from Carisi and Rollins and picked up his drink, quickly swallowing the last of his beer.

“If you hate karaoke so much, why’d you even come?” Carisi asked. There wasn’t accusation or bite in his voice. It was an honest question.

Beside Barba, Benson shifted and her knee brushed against his. His stomach fluttered and he thought, _that’s why_. He swallowed and shot Carisi a scowl. “I missed your sparkling personality,” he said.

Carisi rolled his eyes without losing his grin. “Well we missed you, Barba,” he said, reaching over the table to give Barba’s cheek a gentle slap, and Barba stared at him in disbelief.

“Liv, let’s duet,” Rollins said, jumping to her feet.

Barba glanced at Benson. She was smiling, and she put up only token resistance when Rollins took hold of her arm. She got to her feet and met Barba’s eyes for a moment. He looked away, feeling like an asshole.

“Let Barba sing with you,” Carisi said. “He played James Bond’s cactus pot!”

“Excuse me,” Barba mumbled as he got to his feet.

“You’re not leaving?” Benson asked, touching his arm with her fingers.

“I—no, I—” He gestured vaguely toward the bathroom and her hand fell away from his arm. “Sorry.” He edged behind her chair, bumping his hip against the corner of another table, and he heard Rollins and Carisi laughing. He didn’t look back; it didn’t matter if they were laughing at him or not. He escaped to the bathroom as quickly as possible.

* * *

She had a good voice. Barba wasn’t surprised; he’d yet to discover a single thing she couldn’t do.

He was unsurprised, but he was also unprepared. He had a glass of scotch, and Rollins had returned to the table after an energetic duet—most of which Barba had missed while he was using the restroom and getting a fresh drink—but Benson, to exuberant cheers from Carisi and several strangers, had stayed on the stage alone.

Barba could only stare helplessly. He was imagining things he had no business imagining, and his cheeks had grown warm. When she got to the title line, though—“ _I can’t make you love me if you don’t. You can’t make your heart feel something it won’t_ ”—she looked up and met his eyes. Barba’s heart staggered in his chest. She smiled, and the curve of her lips was sheepish, self-deprecating. Her shoulder twitched in the tiniest hint of a shrug— _what’re you gonna do?_

_No,_ he thought with something close to panic. _No, she can’t think that. You can’t let her think that you don’t—_

“Whataya say, Counsellor?” Rollins asked, leaning toward him. “You gonna take a shot?”

“Pardon me?” he answered, looking at the detective and trying to keep the emotion from his face.

“Sing a song?” she said slowly, gesturing toward the stage. He could see in her expression that she was reading him all too well, and he felt heat rising into his cheeks. He shook his head and took a quick swallow of scotch, letting it scorch his throat. Rollins bent closer, putting a hand on his arm and her lips near his ear, and said, “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

He knew she wasn’t talking about karaoke, and his gaze swung helplessly toward the stage where Benson was finishing her song. His love for her swelled in his chest and up into his throat, making it impossible for him to answer for several seconds. He swallowed and tore his eyes away from Benson.

“What if I’m wrong?” he asked. The words were barely audible, and he didn’t think there was a chance Rollins would hear them under the music and chatter of the bar.

“Wouldn’t you rather know so you can move on?” she asked.

“No,” he said without thinking. He tried to glare at her when she laughed, but he couldn’t quite manage.

“Well, suit yourself,” she said, pushing to her feet. Looking down at him, she added, “But in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve only known you to be wrong once.”

He knew he shouldn’t ask. He didn’t want to ask. He wasn’t going to ask. “When was that?”

She gave him a look that very clearly said, _don’t play dumb with me_. “The day you left and stuck us with Stone.” She considered, glancing at Carisi. “Least that part’s been fixed,” she added, giving Barba another pointed look before turning and grabbing Carisi’s arm to haul him up. “Come on, we’re duetting.”

Benson sank into her chair, bumping his arm. “Sorry,” she said. Her cheeks were flushed. She looked happy, and he tried to remember when he’d last seen her like this. “How bad did I embarrass myself?” she asked, glancing around the bar.

“Trust me, no one was laughing.” When her eyes landed back on him, he took another drink of scotch. The liquor was hitting him hard and fast after the beer, and he knew he’d probably regret it in the morning.

“Were you really in a musical in high school?” she asked. She was leaned toward him so he could hear her over the sound of Rollins and Carisi scream-singing ‘I Love Rock n’ Roll,’ and her arm was pressed against his.

“Yes. But luckily there’s no proof anywhere in existence. I’ve checked. Thoroughly.” He smiled when she laughed. His stomach fluttered as she regarded him. He wondered what she was looking for and what she was seeing. He cleared his throat. “Listen, I’m sorry I haven’t exactly been in a stellar mood tonight. I really do appreciate being asked along.”

“You know you don’t have to be asked, Rafael. You’re always invited.”

He hesitated, trying to decide if the words on his tongue would be there without the alcohol. He turned his eyes to his glass, running his finger around the rim. “I guess I figured I burned the invitation along with all those bridges,” he said quietly.

“I don’t know about the rest of your bridges, but the one between us? Made of concrete.”

He laughed and looked sideways at her. “I’m glad to hear it. But I should probably head home.”

“Okay. I’ll come with you.”

“What?”

“I mean, I’ll share a car.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

She smiled and patted his arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

“No, I mean—you’ll miss the countdown. You said you wanted to ring in the new year with your friends.”

“I’ve barely seen you at all this year. I don’t really want to start the next year of my life without you in it.”

He stared at her, struck completely speechless.

She studied his face for a moment. “But, if you’d rather leave alone—”

“No. No, we can stay. I’ll stay.”

“Rafael, you don’t have to do that,” she said, laying a hand on his arm.

“Liv, there’s something I need to tell you.”

She leaned toward him to murmur into his ear, and he barely suppressed a shiver as her breath fanned his cheek. “If you have any interest in kissing me at midnight, I’d much rather go back to your place.”

He turned his head slowly to look at her. She drew back only far enough to meet his eyes; he could feel the soft puff of her breath against his lips. “I’ll probably be pretty drunk by then,” he said.

She picked up his glass and drank the rest of his scotch, grimacing as she returned the glass to the table. “Me, too,” she said, flashing a smile. “But right now I’m sober enough to promise I won’t have any regrets.”

He got carefully to his feet and offered a hand to help her up. “Liv?” He held up her coat and she turned away from him to slip her arms into the sleeves.

“Hm?”

He settled the coat onto her shoulders and leaned closer. “If I start saying a bunch of embarrassing things, it’s probably because of the scotch.” He paused, turning his nose into the sweep of hair behind her ear for a moment. “But I promise I mean every word,” he murmured.


End file.
